


You can't Call It That!

by Scavenge4Dreams



Series: Of Cats and Kittens [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Fluff and Humor, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Light Angst, M/M, Tony Being Tony, Tony Feels, Tony-centric, sad childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavenge4Dreams/pseuds/Scavenge4Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s about when he’d realized that the thing had eyes.<br/>And it had been starting at him ever since.</p><p> *Or the one where Clint apologises in the form of pet rocks, becuase of course he does. And there is entirely too much angst for a story that is about a pet rock. And where did all this fluff come from? Also, put your shirt back on Steve. Seriously. Back on. *</p><p>*Or the spin-off to the one where the author made the mistake of referencing Tony's Pet Rock*</p><p>*And then proceded to write the crackiest fic that was ever not crack*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rock On

It was staring at him.

 

In truth, he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all, not in the organised chaos that was his workshop.    Sitting on the corner of his workbench, half tucked into a pile of messy connections and wire, it could have gone unseen for months. Probably would have, except for the serendipitous chance that his hand would brush over the unfamiliar shock of fuzz as it wandered, searching blindly for one of the many mugs of caffeine in varying states of coolness.

 

Drawn from his musings by the feel of _wrongdoesntbelongwhatisthatfuzzy_ beneath his hand, he’d looked over, curious, and seen it.

 

The bright shock of purple/blue fuzz, over solid black,  had befuddled him for a moment, his mind racing to _rememberfigureguess_ exactly _what_ it was.  Apart from the purple fuzz, the only other discernible detail were two small, white circles, flat, but a little raised,  like a bubble resting against a surface.   The two black dots inside the ‘bubbles’ kind of reminded him of beady little –

 

That’s about when he’d realized that the thing had eyes.

 

And it had been staring at him ever since.

 

He’d been studiously ignoring its presence; the whole thing just stank of Barton, and Tony was far too busy to deal with whatever juvenile crap the overgrown 12 year old was plaguing him with today.

 

That was maybe a  _bit_ harsh, especially considering Tony’s own maturity level was lucky to reach twelve on a _good day,_ but with the 17 upgrades pending for SI, as well as the update SHIELD was demanding he finalize by this time tomorrow, Tony really was extremely busy.

 

And the stupid little thing on the edge of the bench was the proving to be Tony’s worst type of distraction.

_Curiosity._

 

With a frustrated snort he finally dropped the spanner onto the table with a thud and swiveling his stool, he reached for the offending object.

It nestled into the palm of his hand like it had been specifically chosen to fit there. Cool to the touch, but already warming against his skin, the little object was weightier than he’d expected, a solid presence as he brought it closer to his face.

 

And in lifting it, revealed the little note on the bench beneath.

 

_Everyone should have a pet,_

_A friend of all their own,_

_No matter if you’re very young,_

_Or almost fully grown,_

_I may not bark or purr,_

_And I certainly do not sing_

_I do not have a tail to wag_

_But I’m really just the thing._

_I have been taught to sit,_

_And I know how to stay,_

_I can even roll-over,_

_If you send a nudge my way._

_But my talents don’t end here,_

_There’s so much more to me,_

_I am completely awesome,_

_I offer comfort, you see._

_I’ll listen to all your problems,_

_And you can tell me all your woes,_

_I promise to pay attention,_

_Through all your highs and lows_

_I offer love and acceptance,_

_And I never, ever judge,_

_My devotion is rock-steady_

_My loyalty won’t budge_

_But while I am incredible,_

_And our bond is a lock,_

_I’m not infallible,_

_I’m just your new pet rock._

_So if you ever need more,_

_A friendship that is true,_

_Know you can turn to the one,_

_Who gave me to you._

* * *

 


	2. Three Weeks Earlier

 

**_ *Three Weeks Earlier* _ **

 

 

“ _Nope, not in the- Behind the-? No, because that would make sense….”_  Backing away from where he’d all but crawled into their industrial sized refrigerator and twisting to look beneath his outstretch arm as he held the door agape, Clint broke from muttering below his breath to ask,  “ Where’d you put the milk, Stark?”

 

Behind him, slumped half over the table, and half over his reluctantly amused boyfriend, Tony huffed a put upon breath and flopped further forward, all but whining,  “ _Oh god, Kill me now…_ ”

 

Already turning back to the fridge, Clint shook his head as he answered, “Jeez, drama queen, I asked where it was, not for you to milk a damn cow.”

 

“It’s eeealry. Aaaand before morning. Aaand eeearly.  And I’m aaawake.” Tony’s pitifully moaned reply was muffled, the genius not managing to lift his face from where it was pressed against the hardwood of the table surface.

 

“A highly debatable claim” Bruce retorted quietly, looking up from whatever article had been demanding his attention for the past few minutes.

 

Tony’s half-hearted rude hand gesture only elicited a snort of laughter from his fellow scientist, any intention Bruce had of retorting cut off by Clint’s beseeching whine from near the fridge.

 

“Tooooneeee. Milk? ” the archer sounded all of about five, and Natasha apparently agreed, rolling her eyes as she slid gracefully from her seat, cereal bowl in hand.  Putting the empty bowl into the dishwasher, she passed by the fridge, and leaning over Clint’s shoulder, she grabbed the bottle of milk from the fridge door, about two inches from his left hand.

 

Pressing the bottle to his chest, she turned and slid back into her seat, bringing her own coffee to her lips as she said, “Honestly, You’re both hopeless. Drink your coffee- we’re due at SHIELD in about thirty minutes. And You! Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you’ve been stuffing toast crusts into your pockets for the past twenty minutes? ”

 

Something about that sentence managed to garner even Tony’s attention, a perplexed look settling over his face as he slowly sat up, looking around the room to find the culprit of such weird behaviour.

 

The red creeping up Steve’s face, coupled with the bashful smile that gentled his lips told Tony exactly who the offender was.

 

Tony, being Tony, immediately went with sarcasm, “The Depression’s been over for a while, babe, no need to be hoarding food. I know I don’t really _do_ three meals a day and all that, but really, you don’t have to save the scraps”, a more serious pinched look suddenly crossed his face and he continued with, “….Seriously, do they not feed you enough at SHIELD? Don’t they get the whole Super soldier Metabolism thing? I’ll talk to Fury, this is rid-

 

Ignoring the blatantly curious looks he was getting from the rest of the team, Steve focused on Tony, finding himself both inherently amused by his lovers warp speed jump from mostly asleep to spectacularly displeased, as well as touched by the underlying concern. 

 

While he was a little abashed about the real reason he was pocketing breakfast scraps, and just knew that the rest of the team would likely mock him endlessly if they found out, Steve was also able to see that this would likely escalate into a concern induced ‘Tony-tangent’ if he didn’t nip it in the bud, and so he cut in, “Tony, - Hey,- hey stop. Its fine, SHEILD feeds me plenty. The crusts are for the dog.

 

“-ulous, and if they d- What? What Dog? Steve Rogers, are you feeding another stray?” Tony asked, his eyebrows knitting together in a knowing manner, and Steve had to grin as he nodded, despite the myriad of snorts and headshakes he was getting from the assembled team.

 

“He visits the dumpster near the lobby at SHIELD- a real feisty little fella.” Steve explained, ignoring the ‘ _why, god, why’_ from Clint’s general direction.

 

“You can’t feed every mutt in the city, Rogers. ” Steve could see that Tony was trying to sound stern and practical, but he mostly just came across as adoring and smitten, which was how Steve preferred it.

 

“I know, Tony.  It's just... This little guy reminds me of my first pet – a little pup named ‘scraps’ that I… _adopted_ , when I was about four. I didn’t get to keep him long, he kept setting off my allergies, but while I had him, it was fantastic. I loved that dog.”

 

“Well, be that as it may, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to grow attached. The thing will just die, and then I’ll have to deal with Captain Mopey Pants. There will be no more feeding of that fleabag from my table. ” Tony’s voice was serious, his tone and inflection severe and sombre, but the glint in his eye told an entirely different story, and Steve snorted.

 

Clint, ever willing to be a party to mocking, especially when Tony was involved, added from his perch on the bench, newly whitened coffee and mostly empty milk bottle sitting beside him, “Really Stark, you’d deny a man the little comfort of his first boyhood friend?  Bet it’d be a different story if the mutt reminded you of _your_ first dog.”

 

“Oh, he definitely wouldn’t remind me of my first dog” Tony shot back, grinning as he saw the others settle in to watch the epic bantering session that was about to commence.

 

Clint grinned back, all teeth and bite as he replied, “Really? Oh, of course…your first dog was probably some hundred thousand dollar poodle.”

 

“Nope, I never even had a dog, so there goes whatever smart assed comment you’re-” Tony laughed when Clint scowled and cut him off.

 

“Seriously? You’re a cat person? Seriously? I mean there are a whole lot of smart assed things I can say about you and your pussy, but _really?”_

 

Tony shook his head, “Nope, never had a cat either.”

 

“A bird? It’s going to be so ironic if I have to start calling _you_ featherbrain…” Clint asked, most of the mockery gone from his tone, replaced with genuine curiosity, which considering the speculative gazes they were getting, he wasn’t the only one curious.

 

Tony was shaking his head, a secretive little smile on his face as the exchange morphed into a guessing game.

 

“Fish? Like tropical, or a goldfish or something?” Clint hazarded a guess, although he truly couldn’t see Tony of _this_ age having the patience or interest to look after fish, let alone as a child.

 

As expected, Tony denied the guess, “Nope, no fish. I did find a tadpole once, but mother wouldn’t let me bring it in the house.”

 

“Something small – rats, or a hamster?” this was Bruce’s guess, and the game expanded to include him, Tony answering with a shake of his head.

 

“Nope, I’m not one much for rodents, I think they’re kind of creepy.”

 

Steve grinned, his mind going to the last time they’d encountered a rat in the basement, and had to agree with Tony’s elf assessment. There had been squealing.

 

“Manly squealing” Tony hissed, the unprompted correction telling Steve that Tony knew exactly where his thoughts had taken him. With an indulgent grin he added his own guess, “Something more exotic? A monkey? ”

 

“No, although that would have been awesome. I suppose Clint’s pretty close though, so – dream realised.” Tony shot back, smirking in the archer’s direction.

 

“Oh yeah? Well, I bet your first pet was something like a…a- a chicken!” Clint scrambled for a suitably embarrassing animal.

 

“Chicken is a bird, birdbrain, I didn’t have a bird.” Tony shot back

 

“A wilder beast? Or a fierce drop bear from the land of great risk and peril? ” Thor chimed in with utmost sincerity from behind his veritable mountain of poptarts, which had been keeping him extremely occupied until that very moment.

 

“No. Sorry big guy, not even close.” Tony answered with a smile, before mouthing ‘ _drop bear?’_ with a shake of his head.

 

The guesses continued, running the gamut of _spider_ to _elephant,_ and everything in between.

 

And then, looking thoughtful, Natasha said, “You’ve never had a pet.”

 

The way she said it, it wasn’t a question, and Tony grinned.  With a nod, he opened his mouth to confirm her guess, and once again voice his concern about her scary deduction abilities.

 

“Oh, as if! Everyone knows that pets are great for children’s development and shit.  Stark has always had money and plenty of space and whatever… he was probably spoilt rotten. Only heartless, loveless parents would deny their only kid a pet for no reason. Its no-”

 

And that’s when Clint noticed that Tony was no longer smiling.


	3. Three Days Prior

 

Clint didn’t often feel bad for putting his foot in it.

 

Oh, he did it regularly enough; he had a well-earned reputation for telling it how it was, something that was appreciated by most,  but still managed to ruffled a few feathers on occasion.  So, it wasn’t unusual for him to say something that wasn’t the most _appropriate or advisable_ in the given circumstances.

 

It was just the _feeling bad_ that didn’t happen often.

 

He figured people were grown ass adults, and if they couldn’t handle the truth, it was their problem, not his.   

 

Having embraced this aspect of his personality with ease long ago, Clint had to wonder at the sheer level of _wretchedness_ that had been eating away at him for the past few weeks.

 

It had been a stupid throwaway statement, said without thinking. Truth, and teasing and surety of the falsehood making his words bold and cutting. Uncaring.

 

And he did stand by it, by the honesty of what he’d said.  Children should have pets, to aid with growth and development and social skills.  To deny a child a companion for no truly necessary reason was malicious. Heartless.

 

He stood by it.

 

He just wished he’d never said it.

 

Tony had blinked, lingering smile still dripping off his face, replaced by a strangely disconcerting combination of flustered, defensive, and _gutted._

It had made Clint feel nauseas.

His words had trailed off into nothingness as he’d stared at Tony, waiting for the scathing sarcasm, the biting anger, waiting- _welcoming it._

He already regretted the words.

 

Only, Tony didn’t react like that.   He hardly seemed to react at all.

 

A weak quip, an excuse that Clint couldn’t even remember now, may not have even heard then, and Tony had turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen. Retreating. Running.

 

Clint had watched him go.

 

The piece of toast hit him in the side of the face, and he turned his hang dog expression Natasha’s way, meeting the second crust face on.

 

She spewed something poisonous in Russian, and Clint swallowed, hanging his head, his own muttered “Shit, shit- oaky. I can fix this. ..How do I fix this?” almost lost beneath the tirade.

 

Steve intercepted the next projectile, dropping it to the table with a sigh, speaking as he got to his feet, “I’ll go after him.  Bruce, let Fury know we’ll be late. “

 

And Clint was left to Natasha’s tender mercies, which mostly consisted of a pillow to the head, and much Russian scowling.

 

That had been three weeks ago, and for the most part, things had been completely normal.  Tony and Steve had come back into the room half an hour later, and the six of them had left for SHIELD headquarters.

 

The only indication that anything was even amiss was the unusual quietness of the _troublesome two,_ and the slight tightening of Steve’s jaw.

 

Nothing had changed, they still bantered, mocked, teased, and tore each other to shreds in the way only friends can, yet…there was _something_.

 

An unspoken tension, a slight break in the casual familiarity and comfortableness that had instantly formed between Clint and Tony, almost as soon as they’d lay eyes on each other. A sense of brotherhood, broken.

 

And Clint didn’t know how to fix it.

 

Or, he did.  But an apology wasn’t something he could do. Not for something like this. Not with Tony. The level of awkward that would come from such a gesture, and the following conversation…would likely be worse than the state of things between them now.

 

But looking at the little rock in the centre of his palm, it black googly eyes wobbling up at him as he moved it gently, Clint figured that he’d found another way.

 

Another version of ‘I’m sorry I was an insensitive and unthinking ass. Your friendship means the world to me, and I treasure our bond.  Even though I think your parents were pathetic excuses for such, I can’t help but thank them for making sure you turned out the way you have. Because you’re pretty awesome and I love you.  ’

 

Or,

_‘Here, have a pet rock’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Clint, a pet rock is a perfect substitute for an apology.   
> But well - knowing Tony...


	4. Aggy

“Sir, Captain Rogers is enquiring as to whether you will be attending movie night tonight?” 

 

Tony stilled, looking up slowly, surprised confusion shadowing his face as he answered, “Crap. Friday?  It can’t be Friday yet. It’s…Tuesday.  I know its Tuesday” he paused and then asked, “J, what day is it today?”

 

JARVIS’s answer was somehow both mockingly sardonic and gently amused, “It is indeed Friday, Sir. 6:23pm on the sixteenth day of June in the year two thousand an-”

 

With a shake of his head, Tony muttered, “Your capacity for assholery continually surprises me.”

 

“I don’t see why it should sir. I am, after all, a learning program…and in this regard, I certainly learnt from the best. ” JARVIS replied, saccharine sweet.

 

Unable to supress a snort of benign amusement, Tony absently quipped back, “Your compliments could use some work, though”.

 

“I am sadly lacking in a role model for that particular area….may I remind you, sir, movie night? Captain Rogers is still awaiting an answer.” JARVIS prompted.

 

Movie Night!

 

He enjoyed escaping from reality as much as the next person, got drawn into the fabulous and fantastic lives and stories that sprawled across his the giant screen in his home entertainment theatre, but the true allure of Movie Night had nothing to do with the movies.

 

_Tormenting Clint about his adoration of anything with archery in it- Robin Hood, Hunger Games, Lord Of the Rings, even Brave. It didn’t matter what genre of movie, the moment a bow and arrow appeared on screen, Clint would shoot upright, his eyes bright and shiny as he watched with avid excitement, unable to even attempt feigned disinterest._

_Being simultaneously entertained by the movie playing in the background, and the observations of Thor about various peculiar and wonderful midgaurdian customs. Like, twerking. And the prevalence of undergarments as outerwear. And Matt Bomer’s distinguished and tremendous jawline._

_Natasha advocating an 18 th re-watching of The Princess Bride, despite the fact that every member of the team could now recite the entire movie verbatim, and usually ruined the best parts by doing their own skewed renditions. _

_Listening to Steve’s heart thump away steadily beneath his ear, smiling at the sudden jump in speed as anything even remotely shocking or exciting happened on the screen. Feel Steve’s fingers trailing gentle lines across his wrist, the small of his back, his hip…_

 

He got to curl up on the best sofa, because it was his tower and he always got the best sofa (and no one was sporting any debilitating injuries at the moment), and bask in the warmth of the reality that he had this now, he had…friends, _family._   People who wanted to spend time with him, just for the sake of spending time with him.   

 

People who didn’t want anything from him other than his companionship, because for some ungodly reason, they actually seemed to like him.

 

Love him, even.

 

Movie Night was one of Tony’s favourite indulgences.

 

But…

 

Wincing as he straightened from his bowed position, feeling twinges of pain as long unused muscles spasmed into reluctant movement, Tony sighed, taking in the half rewired chest-plate on the bench before him, and he still had the helmet to upgrade.   The specs he needed to go over for SHIELD were waiting on the table across the room, Clint’s latest arrowhead needed safety testing before he’d actually let the archer test them and he didn’t even want to think of the work that SI had generated for him this week.

 

 

“Not tonight, J. Tell them to go ahead without me, I’ve still got too much to do down here.” Tony decided, reluctantly.

 

“As You Wish, Sir”

 

* * *

 

Steve sighed again, for the fourth time in as many minutes, and then immediately felt bad as he waved off a fourth concerned glance from Bruce.  It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying Movie Night, and maybe he was just being overly sentimental, overly sensitive. It was just that movie night never quite felt right without everyone there.

 

And Steve was beginning to realize that he was never going to feel quite right without Tony there, ever again.

 

He started to sigh again, but managed to play it off as a deep breath. Mostly.  He felt Natasha’s eyes flicker to him, before returning to where Thor’s head was cradles in her lap, her fingers making light work of detangling the ‘braid’ that Clint had ‘created’ earlier that afternoon.

 

The room was warm and cosy, the sofa more comfortable than a sofa had any right to be, and the blankets and cushions adding a very domestic and homesy touch.  Bags of popcorn, cans of soda and whatever else Clint and Thor had managed to dig out of the fridge, were stashed in a pile in the centre of the lusciously thick carpet.  The screen was extravagantly large, and the surround sound immersive.   And the company was made up of some of Steve’s favourite people of this century. His teammates, friends and family.   Everything was perfect, and just how Steve liked it.

 

With the exception of the gaping space on the sofa to his left.    Which was not right, and not how Steve liked it, _at all._

And apparently, from the look _Clint,_ of all people was giving him, Steve was completely and utterly transparent.

 

The archer smirked down at him from his perch on the far arm of the sofa, his look half sympathetic, half mocking, and all too amused.   It screamed _whipped._

 

Steve figured he didn’t mind, especially after Tony walked in 20 seconds later, flopped down half beside, half draped over Steve with a melodramatic sigh, and shoved Clint off the sofa arm with a well-placed foot.

 

“Beat it birdbrain. My Steve, my tower, my TV, my sofa.” Tony demanded, turning his attention to snuggling in beside Steve, liberating most of the blonds blanket and a gulp of whatever fizzy drink he’d been slowly sipping.

 

Clint sniggered, but obediently relocated, perching cross-legged on the back of the single armchair… above Bruce’s head, who promptly turned sideways, and slung his legs over one arm, so Clint’s feet weren’t on each side of his face.

 

 

Tugging the stolen blanket back from a protesting Tony, Steve said, “Not that I’m complaining, but I thought JARVIS said you were too busy tonight?”

 

“I am busy tonight. Way too much shit to do. But I remembered two very important facts. One, I’m like, the boss- of everything. If I want to take a break, I’m pretty sure I can.  Also. I’m T- ”

 

“-Tony Fucking Stark.” chorused Tony, Clint and Bruce in tandem.

 

“…exactly. Also, this is my blanket!  ” finished Tony, reefing the blanket back over himself again.

 

Steve sighed, and let the blanket go.   Before wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist and dragging him the rest of the way into his lap.    He tucked the blanket down around the two of them while Tony laughed and said, “Okay, that works. I can share. I’m totally into sharing.”

 

“Are you two finished making out, or do you need us to leave the room for a while?” Clint asked, adding, “Come on, its my turn to choose and I want to watch Ghost Rider two!”

 

Thor grinned, Steve looked non-plussed, Natasha groaned, Bruce sighed and fished a Starkpad out from under his seat. Tony disagreed vehemently “Not Ghost Rider two. That movie is a travesty…it so unspeakably awful-”

 

“My turn to choose, no questions asked. We suffered through Planet of the Apes for you. I want what I want.” Clint argued back, crossing his arms in defiance.

 

“Don’t do this birdbrain. Anything but Ghost Rider two”, Tony tried to negotiate.

 

Clint stilled, his eyes narrowing, calculating, “Ghost Rider two… or The Wicker Man.”

 

“I love Ghost Rider” said Bruce.

 

“Ghost Ride it is” agreed Natasha.

 

“Ghost Rider is fine. J, queue Ghost Rider, please. ” Tony capitulated immediately.

 

Thor grinned, and Steve just looked non-plussed.

 

As the movie started, Tony moved slightly, turning toward the TV a little to get into a more comfortable viewing position, and Steve hissed as something hard was pressed gratingly against his hip bone.

 

“I need you to restrain yourself from making an ‘or are you just happy to see me joke’, but there’s something in your pocket, and it’s kind of digging into my hip…”. Steve said, wriggling a hand down between them, and slipping two fingers into the pocket on Tony’s sweats, lifting Tony’s weight for a second as he fished for the hard object, expecting a spanner, arc reactor casing, Dummy’s rotary socket, or the like.

 

“Uh, yeah. Just- wait! It’s a-” Tony stumbled over his words, a dull flush creeping over his face as he rocketed into a seated position, hand going to his pocket as realization swept through him.

 

He’d come to team movie night _with his pet rock in his pocket._

It wasn’t like he’d carried it around with him everywhere for the past two days or anything. Nor did he pet it every few minutes, a stupid smile on his face as he remembered the silly little note that had accompanied it. And he definitely didn’t want to show any of the other Avengers.

 

It seemed it was completely too late on at least that final count though, because the movie was on suddenly on mute and five sets of eyes were turned towards him with a fairly even mix of amusement, curiosity, apprehension and concern. 

 

It was this last one, in Steve’s blue eyes as the blond sat up and reached for him that had Tony sighing before pulling the small object from his pocket.

 

“It’s nothing.  Just… this” he said as he held is hand out,  the pet rock sitting in the centre of his upturned palm, it eyes bobbling with the gentle movement of his hand, beneath its shock of purple and blue hair.

 

Steve leaned closer, “What… It’s a rock. With eyes?” he muttered as he examined the dark rock.

 

Bruce abandoned whatever he was reading to reach across the gap between them and plucked the rock smoothly from Tony’s hand, bringing it close to his face to examine it.

 

“Some sort of semi-precious mineral form. Agate maybe, Obsidian maybe, although geology isn’t really my field.  ” He guessed, running his fingers over the soft fuzz glued to the surface.

 

It was Natasha who put two and two together first, asking, “Who gave you a pet rock, Tony?”

 

The question was innocent enough, but the _tone_ of Natasha’s voice had an element of _something._ Something that sent shivers tingling down Steve’s spine, something deadly, threatening and lethal.  And not aimed toward Tony at all.  For Tony, there were traces of warmth, of affection and of _protectiveness_ , and that was where the anger was coming from.

 

Steve only had to wonder for a moment before he understood, and he felt his own blood begin to boil.

 

After the admission and resulting emotional fallout of the a few weeks ago, someone had given Tony a ‘pet’. Mocking him. Teasing him. Knowingly _hurting him_ with something that had already caused pain. And it had to have been one of them.

 

And then Clint started babbling, “No! God no!  I wouldn’t have, not like that. It’s not like that. It’s… I swear Tony, I didn’t mean it like that.  I just – I said stupid things and I saw him at the markets, and I just. I didn’t’ m-”

 

“I know.” Tony cut in.

 

Attempted to cut in.

 

“-ean anything like that.  I just- wait, what?” Clint finally asked, Tony’s reply finally getting through to him.

 

Tony grinned, taking the rock back from Bruce and closing his fist around it gently, explaining, “I know you’re not- You weren’t trying to…It’s extremely lame, but kind of very cool.”

 

Steve relaxed immediately, taking in the vigorously nodding Clint and the still smiling Tony, and realised that it hadn’t been a mocking gesture… it had been an apology. Acceptance.

 

Natasha seemed to notice the by play between the two men as well, and had come to the same conclusion. An approving conclusion if her soft thwack to Clint’s shoulder was any indication.  Natasha often used mild outbursts of violence to show her approval.

 

 

“A pet? How glorious! And what have you named this new steadfast companion of yours Tony Stark?” Thor asked, rolling to onto his back to look up at them from the floor.

 

Tony looked down at him, agape for a second, and then replied, “Named it? It’s _a rock_.”

 

Natasha shook her head, Steve sighed, Thor looked heartbroken, Bruce winced and Clint ‘tskd’, before saying, “Okay, now I’m just stating a fact here, but you have no idea how this works, so I’m going to have to teach you.  Help me out guys, Step one of owning a pet?”

 

“A name!” and other variations of the same was the wholeheartedly agreed upon answer.

 

Tony, seeing that there was absolutely no way he was getting out of this room without naming his pet rock, decided to take the path of least resistance and opened his mouth.

 

“You cannot name him, and it _is_ a him, Rocky, The Rock or anything to do with rocks. That’s just- no. You’re a genius, you can come up with a decent name” Clint jumped in.

 

Tony closed his mouth.

 

He thought for a second, and then replied, “Well… Bruce said it- okay, _he_ might be Obsidian or Agate. There’s no way in fuck I’m naming him Obi- so…Aggy?”

 

Thor nodded like this wise a wise and suitable choice of name. Bruce looked accepting. Natasha looked- like she didn’t really care, but wasn’t grossly offended by the suggestion.  Steve was shaping his mouth around ‘Aggy’ like it was a strange taste, but not altogether unpleasant.

 

Clint snorted in disgust. “He’s not some 90 year old grandpa who likes bingo and argyle socks. You can’t name him that.”

 

And so began the great naming debacle of Avenger Tower.


	5. Gossip Killer

 

At first he pretended he couldn’t hear them.

 

He was half around the corner, several feet away from where they were standing next to the water cooler, _of all places._ Far enough away that he was only getting snippets of their conversation. Far enough away that they probably hadn’t realized that the figure twenty paces down the hall waiting for the elevator, wasn’t just a secretary, or a nameless agent.

 

They probably hadn’t realized that he was one of the last people they’d want overhearing their conversation.

 

Which, at that moment, was going a little something like this.

 

 “…what they’re saying, but I don’t believe a word of it. He’s ‘ _Hawkeye’_ for fucks sake. He’s had all the training there is, and has more experience than anyone, except maybe Widow.  And he was compromised within seconds?! I say bullshit – it’s a cover.  He _turned_ , and when his side lost, he came crawling back on his belly.  Like any SHIELD agent could be brainwashed within seconds like that.”

 

Taking a deep breath, and loosening the clench of his jaw, their unintended eavesdropper leant back against the wall, stealing his temper and strengthening his resolve not to step in.

 

Because really, it’ll be much better in the long run if Clint never knew he’d heard this.

 

They could avoid the awkward silences, the not-quite-embarrassment, the angry defensiveness.

 

The ‘I’m telling you I don’t deserve this. But I know that _you_ think _I_ actually think I might.  Maybe I do’.

 

“I don’t care whether he was brainwashed or not. If he wasn’t, then he’s an evil fuck who needs to be locked down, and if he was…well, who’s to say he’s recovered? Or won’t be affected again.  A man in his position, compromised? He got a lot of good people killed that day, and…what if he’s a sleeper, or- ”

 

They’d all known that the archer would likely receive some flak for the role he’d played in Loki’s attack, willingly or not, but from how this conversation was playing out behind him? The venom and vitriol in the tone, the depth of thought that had gone into the theorising. The assumptions and baseless accusations from people who hadn’t been in any way involved?

 

This wasn’t the first time these two had discussed this, and likely they weren’t the only ones.

 

Clint was an adult. A super spy. Perfectly capable of standing up for himself.

 

“I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, The Avengers? Do they know they have either a weak-willed, mentally disturbed man, or an evil egomaniac backing a team of the world’s most iconic hero’s? Protecting _Captain America’s_ back, for fucks sake.  I mean, yeah he’s a superhuman and all, but a bullet to the head would kill him just as dead.  And then there’s the humans on the team. Widow at least has-”.

 

Clint was also his friend.

 

Water cooler gossip for the next week would basically just be about why sharing negative opinions of Clint Barton, was a _terrible_ idea, especially when Tony Fucking Stark was standing twenty feet away.

 

“Do you know what that man did for you? DO YOU?! He fought giant space invading ALIENS, with a fucking Bow and Arrow! That MAN, that human, made of flesh and blood! –Not a god, or a superhuman or with a suit of flying armour!  He’d have died to save you- and you stupid fucking sacks of shit want to drag him down and destroy him! Why?! Because he was _mind-controlled_? Not brainwashed or hypnotised – _MIND-CONTROLLED_ , by a GOD, from another UNIVERSE- with Fucking MAGIC!! FUCK! I hate Magic!”

 

And then he’d stormed back down the corridor, smashed the call button for the elevator, and left.

 

Silence had reigned for several minutes, and then the two gone their separate directions, slinking off down the corridor.

 

In the room to the left of the water cooler, Clint Barton had leaned against the firmly closed door, looking at, but not seeing the half cleared desk, the dead pot-plant and a face down photo frame that hid picture of young red-haired woman tackling a smiling dark haired man to the ground.

* * *

 

“Hi, Dummy. High five, buddy!”

Tony looked up, not quite startled by his boyfriends voice suddenly echoing in what he’d thought was an empty room, but close to it.

 

“Huh. How long have you-” was as far as he got, before he was cut off by Steve’s lips pressing against his.

 

“Hi” was his impressive conclusion to his sentence.

 

“Hi, yourself. What are you working on?” Steve asked, swivelling to the side and nudging Tony’s wheeled stool a little to make room for himself to lean against the work bench.

 

Tony blinked, because while Steve was usually genuinely interested in whatever he was working on, _that_  particular tone of voice was his _‘_ do you _need_ to be working on it? _Right now?_ voice.

 

It was usually a precursor to sexy times.

 

Or sleep.

 

Looking at the schematics scrawled out across the bench before him, the paper held down by a myriad of workshop odds and ends and the occasional coffee cup, he shrugged, shoving off the wheelie chair and to his feet as he replied, “I’ve just finished the initial plans for a new arrow model for Clint. A mild, but fast acting paralytic- I’m calling it the ‘Gossip Killer’”.

 

Steve quirked an eyebrow at the name, but didn’t say anything, instead reaching out to snag Tony about the waist and pull him into a tight embrace, asking “Feel like some dinner?”

 

Bringing his arms up around Steve’s neck, Tony grinned, answering “Since I skipped out on lunch with you today- sorry about that. Again.  I suppose I could eat. Maybe Italian.”

 

“Suddenly I’m more interested in _dessert_ ”, Steve half growled, dropping a kiss onto Tony’s lips, and then pouting as the man laughed at him.

 

“Seriously, you’re adorable-” Tony murmured, while attempting to kiss away the pout.

 

They ended up ordering in. And then ordering in again when the meal got cold and Tony wouldn’t let Steve leave their bedroom to re-heat it, but refused to eat it cold.

 

Steve would re-heat the left overs for lunch the next day.

 

Leaning back against the headboard, Tony flipped the page, grinning when a full two page spread of himself sprawled out over their bed was revealed. 

 

His eyes were closed, but the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth said that he was awake, and Tony remembered the morning that Steve had drawn this.   He hadn’t realised that Steve had _realised_ that he was awake, but the deliberate nuance to the drawing told him that it was so.

 

“Really?! I pretended I was asleep for two and a half hours so you could draw me, and you knew I was awake the whole time! And I didn’t even get a good morning kiss?!” he called, his voice loud to cut through the hiss of the shower from the bathroom.

 

Steve called back, his voice amused, “Tony. You had that silly little grin on your face half the time, and you’re _never_ completely still, even when you’re asleep- although I was very impressed that you managed to be so still for that long _while awake_. Besides…as I remember it, you got a lot more than just a good morning kiss. And are you looking through my sketchbook?”

 

By this stage, Tony had shoved the sketchbook back under Steve’s side of the bed, and with a cheeky grin that carried into his voice, he called back, “No! Of course not- that’s private!”

 

“Mhmm.” Somehow the barely audible noise carried through the sound of water, and the hardwood door, to reach Tony on the bed. He laughed at the complete and utter scepticism he heard.

 

Rolling over onto his back, with his head half hanging off the bed in the general direction of the bathroom, Tony was about to call back, when something caught his eye.

 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realise that the flat round surface he could see peeking off the edge of Steve’s beside table, with its dark colouring and _smooth-rough_ surface, was in fact the underside of his pet rock.

 

Which he was sure he’d left guarding the coffee machine in kitchen earlier that morning.

 

Curiously peaked, Tony reached out and plucked the rock from the surface, his fingers gentle as they instinctively ran over its hard little body, exploring crevices and tufts of hair that he’d gotten to know quite well. He wasn’t telling anyone this, but the little rock had become almost a talisman _,_ or a charm or something…well, he just liked having it with him.

 

_And that was a line…a scratch, that hadn’t been there this morning._

He thumbed at the furrow on the bottom of the rock, wondering how it had been scratched, and who had done it.  Maybe it had been knocked off the kitchen bench by Thor. But that didn’t explain how it had come to be back in their room.

 

He turned the rock over, fingers tracing the scratches on the bottom, realising that the sheer number, depth and placement meant that this couldn’t have been an accident. His stomach flipped at the idea of one of his teammates deliberately damaging something that belonged to him – even as a prank.

 

And then it flipped in an entirely different manner, because the scratches weren’t just scratches.  They were words.

       

_1 in a million._

And Tony suddenly remembered a mostly one-sided conversation he’d overheard between Phil Coulson and an unknown voice on the far end of a mobile phone. Many years ago, when he’d had poison running through his veins, and he hadn’t expected to make his next birthday.

 

Phil:

_“I’m not saying it. You don’t deserve it.”_

_“Because you’re a horrible little beast”_

_“What? No. Don’t do that. Just because you say my name like that-”_

_“You enjoyed it. I know you did. Horrid. Little. Beast”_

_“I know you live to make my live difficult”_

_“Yes. Of course.”_

_“Unknown. There’s extenuating circumstances”_

_“We’re waiting on genius to manifest.”_

_“Yes, he is. Possibly smarter. Also a giant pain in the ass”_

_“I’d say you’re about on par with each other”_

_“Except, yes. You’re **my** pain in the ass”_

_“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just keep an eye on her.”_

_“Okay. Goodbye.”_

_“Oh. And Clint? You’re one in a million”_

Tony’s smile turned soft as he dropped his hand back to his chest, the little rock enclosed within.   He figured out pretty quickly, that Clint must have heard about what had happened at SHIELD this morning, and this was as close to a thankyou as he was likely to get. It certainly beat being yelled at to mind his own business, which was what he’d sort of half expected might happen.

 

The bathroom door snicked open and steam billowed out, swallowing the tall form that stepped out, swathing him in shadow and mist in a way that was entirely too enticing, and Tony grinned, placing the rock back onto the bedside table as he prepared to pounce.

 

* * *

 

He’s asked Clint once. 

He’d been afraid he’d get his lights punched out, but Clint had just answered with a sad smile.

_“It wasn’t a romantic thing. It was just- I wasn’t in a good place when we first met. It was kind of his answer to why I was worth it. Why he was my friend.  Because I was special, I guess. To him. He could see the good, even when I couldn’t.  He used it with Natasha too.  If he’d been given the time, I think he’d have used it with you”._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Sorry this is slow guys, Real Life is giving me hives.


	6. Where's Thor?

A merciless staccato beat pounded heavily throughout his head, sending wave after wave of pain coiling down his neck and pooling into his shoulders.  His mind was fuzzy, _blurry_ and it was hard to think, it _hurt_ to think _._   

Hot, cold, cold, hot… the icy chill drew goosbumps over sweat drenched skin, yet he was searing to the touch.  

Curled into a miserable ball, the sheets were a damp sticky mess beneath him. He rocked gently against the unsettling tightness of his chest, the pull of aching joints and muscles, and stilled unpleasantly as the movement sent nausea swirling through his unsettled stomach, and bile rising in his throat.

His skin felt painfully tight, his eyes aching behind closed lids, his tongue heavy and swollen and his throat raw and shredded with each dry swallow.

The worse though, was the not knowing.

Not knowing if the Ironman Suit had been delivered into Fury’s hands. Not knowing if he was still an Avenger. If he still had Steve.

And if they decided he was not worth the trouble, Tony wondered; miserable, sick, hurting and alone in his too large bed, in his too large tower….if they’d even bother coming back.

* * *

 “and then we fried the last of them using the mains line that Hulk had damaged.”

Fury steepled his fingers, his eye raking over the various members of his half assembled superhero team. “And Stark is…?”

“With all due respect, Sir,” Steve replied, although he hadn’t sounded overly respectful, “He’s too unwell to be briefed, you’ll have to wait.”

“ _Captain._  I was enquiring after his _health._ ” Fury reprimanded mildly, leaning back in his chair to await an answer.

Steve had the good grace to look abashed, but he wasn’t apologetic as he answered, “He’s…Tony.  He’s Tony.  Bruce got him back to the tower and into bed – Bruce?”

Bruce, his shirt a tattered mess, but much more respectable below the belt having absconded with some unsuspecting agents sweatpants, answered, “He was sleeping when I left, mildly sedated. JARVS is monitoring him.  He’s sick as a dog; fever, nausea, light-headedness… but would have fought his way through todays battle with no one any the wiser.   And then he got the migraine from hell.  Dizziness, light and sound sensitivity, vomiting – the works. And that being said, I’d like to get back to him before he wakes up and decided to unassembled the elevator or upgrade the toaster, again.”

Fury nodded, agreement and dismissal all at once, and the Avengers got to their feet, gathering up bits of costume, weaponry and armour as they went, preparing to leave.

“A word, Barton?” Fury asked mildly as they made their way toward the door.

Clint looked a little apprehensive, although mostly confident as he waved the rest of the group out the door with assurances that he’d join them in a moment, before he turned back to Fury.

‘I don’t suppose, hypothetically speaking, that you would be inclined to take, say a  half hour bathroom break in our engineering lab?”

Clint didn’t blink, his arms coming up to cross his chest as he replied, “Sir. – I’m not taking this off until I’m back in Stark’s lab”.

Fury nodded; it was the answer he’d been expecting.  He did go on to ask, “At least answer me this. Is he really as indispensable as he makes out?”

Clint licked his lips, his memory thrown back into the chaos of that afternoons fight.  Looking down at the red and gold gauntlets that covered his hands, he answered, “If anything sir, he plays _it down_. Tony Stark _is_ Ironman. What he does, what he can do while in the suit- I don’t think anyone else could.”

And with that Clint turned and walked out, his footsteps heavy and hollow as the red and gold boots thudded down the hall.

* * *

_“Guys, I’m out of explosive tips! Penetrative weapons are useless as fuck! I’m a fucking archer! Arrows. Knives. Pointy things! That’s what I do- stupid gelatinous lumps of- fuck, **MOVE** Nat!”_

_Clint slid across the slick rooftop surface on his knees, firing arrow after arrow at the gargantuan quivering mass as it converged on Black Widows precarious position, backed up against a wall on the far side of the street._

_The arrows did fucking nothing. Just slid into that mess and were swallowed by the congealed jelly like substance that made up the creatures entire form._

_“_ NAT! _”_  

_The widow was also having similar problems, her own preferred weapons being blades, but at least the gun she was carrying seemed to discomfort the monster slightly, each entry wound burning the flesh of the creature, causing it to back up slightly before it surged toward her again._

_Steve’s shield was equally useless as a sharp edged weapon, but he’d taken to using it like a battering ram, and with his enhanced strength behind each charge and thrust, he was at least managing to hold his own._

_Hulk was pulverising._

_Which was very cool, and seemed to be effective in keeping the monsters away from the more vulnerable team members, but the squished jelly like substance slowly leeched its way across the ground in the wake of the green rage monster, coalescing back into their previous solid(ish) forms, if slightly less structured._

_Only Ironman seemed to me making an actual dent in the enemy numbers, his repulsors burning and melting the shrieking blobs to nothingness, although sheer numbers were against him, and he seemed to be flagging with each subsequent bout, unable to keep up with the influx._

_As he watched, Steve swept in and shield battered the one advancing on Natasha, and Clint breathed a sigh of relief as it bounced and rolled several hundred feet away.  But already there was another replacing it._

_“For fucks sake Stark! We need some fire power over here- we’re getting massacred!” Clint yelled into his comm, swinging down onto a slightly lower roof, still firing off useless arrows._

_“Fuck you too, Haw-”_

_Clint spun to look where he’d last seen the flashy red and gold, and watched with horror mounting in his throat as the armour plummeted several feet before straightening up haphazardly hovering for a moment. And then dropped again, hitting the ground with a crunch of metal on cement._

_“Stark!”_

_“’m ‘kay.   M- …. I’m. Shit.” Tony was rambling, unable to fully smother gasping hacks that where escaping across the comm lines._

_“You need to get back in the air. We NEED you. We need Ironman!”,  Clint was steadily ignoring that fact that Tony was likely hurt, both because they really did need him – the Avengers were not being going down to jelly blobs on some back street of new York. And also because there was no way he was contemplating the fact that Tony might be really badly hurt._

_“-How? How’s about s-s some heavy artill’ry, Hawk- ” Tony’s voice seemed to fade in and out, and as Clint watched, the armour stumbled and collapsed onto one knee._

_“Yes! You have an Idea?! Something explosive?- come on Tony!” Clint yelled back, desperation colouring his voice._

_Eight seconds later Clint was engulfed in the red and gold-titanium alloy armour._

_“What the fuck!? Tony? Tony! How do I-” Clint watched Tony’s form, still kneeling although now only clad in the black under suit, mutter shakily “’s improvement.” Before he slumped over onto his side, rolling onto his back and was still._

_Clint spent exactly 11 seconds freaking the fuck out._

_And then he acknowledge the voice he could hear buzzing in his ear, and listened as JARVIS explained, “Agent Barton. Agent!  Calm down. Tony believes you can do this - Just raise your arms and aim, I shall take care of the rest – Do. Not. Attempt. To. Fly.”_

_Clint raised his arms, instinctively and subconsciously from memory of watching Tony, palms outward._

_The repulsors blasted the nearest thing to nothingness._

_“Okay! ALRIGHT! Let’s do this.”  And that’s about when he realised that Tony had been flagging from the beginning of the fight.  Because even just standing stock still on the ground, raising his arms and aiming, Clint was making short work of the…things.  Tony should have been massacring them._

_He was vaguely aware of the rest of the team, but his mind was a rush of trajectory math and angle numbers, compensating for all sorts of factors, every shot and hit, every accidental miss (he was letting those go – he might be Hawkeye, and never miss, but this – this was something else), a mess in his mind._

_Hulk was a blurry green mass somewhere to his left and behind him, standing legs akimbo, a constant roar on his lips as he propelled anything that got close enough.  Away from the still form of Tony, slumped small and fragile between huge green feet._

_Steve and Natasha were working in tandem, Natasha carefully positioning a ripped down power line, and Steve propelling things onto the line, the stench of burning soon on the air._

_And then they were finished. Gone. Burned and defeated._

_Clint’s hands were shaking in the gold and red gauntlets._

* * *

 

The sheets were cool and fresh against his heated skin, the room softly lit and soothingly quiet, although not hollow and empty.

Not empty at all.

Steve was sprawled out over the bed beside him, face down, arms and legs spread out in a comfortable stretch, the knuckles of one hand brushing against Tony’s flank, with every intake and exhalation of breath.

He’d said he was proud.    Angry, yes.  But still proud that Tony had managed to step down, had managed to let go, even though Steve knew that Tony could have pushed himself through the pain, and continued the fight.  Likely to much longer lasting detriment to himself.

But the combination of his own growing trust, his belief in his place on the team, his friendship with the others, and Clint’s desperate need to be able to do _help_ , had led him to make the most logical decision.

One Steve was proud of.

* * *

Clint himself hadn’t said much about his jaunt in the Ironman suit, hadn’t voiced how extremely grateful he’d been for the ability to _do something_ when he’d been useless. 

He had however refused to let Tony call the pet rock “JellyThing” in memorandum.

* * *

The base of the rock was cold and smooth against the pads of his fingers, the scratched furrows just barely discernible to his light touch.  

The ‘M’ replaced with a ‘B’.                          

_‘One in a Billion’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor is off doing Thor things.


	7. 1 of a Kind

"Why can't I just call it-"

"Him."

Tony sighed, "Why can't I just call  _him_ Nightmare or blacky?"

Clint flipped over onto his back, abandoning the Wii controller in favour of pinning Tony with a reproachful look as he explained, "Because they're  _booooring._ They lack originality. Where's the  _'Tony Stark'_ flair?"

Tony shook his head in disagreement, "Familiar, comfortable and perfectly suitable. I've done some research into this topic – and descriptive names are highly appropriate in almost any circumstance. He's a black _ish_  rock – blacky!"

"I will tell  _Natasha_  that you named him after her." Clint threatened.

Tony backed down, asking instead, "What about 'Nightmare', then?"

"Even better" Clint shot back.

Tony grimaced as he muttered, "She'd probably be honoured", but mentally put a strike through all dark and sinister sounding names.

* * *

DID.

"I suppose if you really have to give me something, I'd really appreciate more adaptable lighting options in my studio…" had been Steve's eventual capitulation to Tony's ongoing pestering.

THEY.

Natasha had simply said, "Knives. Sharper, shinier knives. Maybe a new garrotte, to match that red dress-"

ACTUALLY.

"Pants. I just want pants. How close are you with that new formula Ried was hel- … providing intel on?" Bruce replied.

THINK.

"A Grand Midgaurdian heating box- yet unusually large of size, so as to sate a true warrior's appetite." Thor declared.

THAT?

Clint grinned, "Well. On the first day I'd like a new wrist guard. And the second I'd like two quivers. The third? Arrows that dissolve. Fourth I'll have a folding bow. Fifth- "

_At first it hadn't bothered him. He was brilliant. A genius. His creations_

_were works of engineering brilliance. But they weren't meant_

_as gifts. They were just things he'd made to help them, entertain them,_

_keep them safe, keep them comfortable._

_But now he wondered, was the only form of affection they thought him_

_capable of?_

* * *

Steve had actually been the easiest. A week anywhere in the world (Steve's choice), with just Tony. No media, Paparazzi, SI board, S.H.I.E.L.D, Fury, Avengers, Monsters, Villains, or Mutants. He'd even agreed to leave the Ironman suit at home (Tony knew Steve planned to bring the suitcase suit, in the same way he knew Steve was aware of the red white and blue spandex that would be folded into the bottom of Tony's suitcase. Just in case.) And a book of vouchers, in garish Christmas colours (red and gold), each carefully hand printed with things like  _'one foot rub'_ and ' _breakfast in bed_ ' and ' _You supply the mistletoe, I've got everything else covered'._ Corny? Undoubtedly. Appreciated? Most definitely.

Bruce was also simple, just because of their shared scientific interests. Wrapped, ribboned and labelled neatly, artfully arranged beneath their oversized Christmas tree in the main lounge, was a first edition of every significant, interesting or otherwise important physics text of the past century, with special regard to Gamma radiation and mutation. Including several that were yet to be officially published. And a black t-shirt, with scrawling neon green ink stating, ' _It's not easy being green_ '.

Natasha was more difficult, mainly because buying for women was full of pitfalls and traps, and buying for Natasha Romanov a veritable death sentence. In the end, a morning of pampering, and an afternoon of shopping (with his name firmly attached to any purchases), proceeded two tickets to the Russian ballet. And that dealt with Pepper as well.

Thor was simply a lifetime supply of pop tarts (which the Asguardian had received the previous Christmas and finished by May, but well-) and any movie Tony could get his hands on that had a dragon in it somewhere – the guy was seriously obsessed with "Earths fiercest creature", and was devastated that it had gone 'extinct' many eons ago. Tony was going to hell for that one.

Clint was the troublesome one. Sure, it would be easy just to buy the guy something, but Tony at least wanted it to show  _some_ semblance of thought and consideration, and the guy wasn't  _into_ anything quite the way Nat was into ballet, or Steve art. Food was also a contender, but all the cheap-ass nasty food that made it onto Hawkeyes top ten list was stuff he could easily afford and procure.

Out of ideas, and with no inspiration, Tony did what was only natural when in the pursuit of information.

He broke into Clint's room-

Well, he overrode the locking mechanism-

He asked JARVIS to open the door.

And found Clint sitting on the narrow headboard above his bed, sharpening a blade so lethal that it had to be one of Natasha's.

"Help you with something?" Clint had asked.

Tony fled.

* * *

He had noticed something though, during his very manly retreat while he'd been pointedly not meeting Clint's maniacal/amused gaze.

A tiny picture frame, lonely and out of place on Clint's bedside table. Silver and worn with age, yet obviously treasured and well cared for. A yellowing newspaper cutting had been carefully pressed behind the pristine glass, blurry and pixelated.

He was going to need Steve's help.

* * *

The day after Christmas the tiny silver photo frame on Clint's bedside table no longer sat alone. Beside it sat a companion, the same silver frame but nearly four times the size, the image held within, lovingly hand drawn, each line and stroke as close as the artist could match the original image, being that it was an old newspaper cutting.

And Clint could gaze upon an image of his parents that was larger than the thumbnail headshots he'd cut from an old newspaper when he'd been 7, the story reporting a tragic car accident.

* * *

Several floors above, Tony gently rubbed his thumb over the scratched base of his nameless pet rock, the wording having morphed once again, from 'One in a  _B_ illion' to 'One in a  _T_ rillion'.

* * *

Epilogue.

Tony had breezed into the kitchen before 6am one morning in early February. He'd pushed his way between Thor and the toaster (zone of mortal peril), flung himself onto the nearest bar stool and with great pomp and circumstance, had withdrawn the little rock from his pocket and sat him on the coaster by Clint's knee.

"I've named him. And it's final." Tony said.

Clint, seated above him on the kitchen bench, " _hmm'd?"_  without lifting his chin from where it was propped on his fist, which in turn was propped on the knee of his crossed legs. His usually sharp eyes droopy and his face mostly buried in his coffee cup.

"This has gotten beyond ridiculous. So I've chosen, and I'm not changing it." Tony argued, mechanically accepting the piece of toast that Steve passed to him, and taking a pointedly viscous bite out of one corner.

The visage of Tony ferociously ripping the toast apart and chewing violently less than a foot in front of his face seemed to break Clint from his half asleep daze and he shot upright, asking, "Huh? What?"

"I named him. And I'm not changing it." Tony repeatedly slowly, gesturing to the rock, bright purple fuzz camouflaged against Clint's lurid track pants.

"What?" Clint asked again.

Tony actually growled his reply, "I. Named. H-"

Clint laughed, and swatted at Tony's head, cutting him off, "Yeah I got that, genius.  _What_ did you name him?"

Tony looked at him sideways from the corner of his eye, his gaze determining, voice pointed and emphasising as he repeated, "I'm  _not changing_ it."

"Okay, okay. We get it. Reveal your stroke of brilliance that is this pet rocks permanent and forever name!" Clint mocked, eyes flashing with amazement.

"Clint" Tony said seriously.

"Okay, okay. I'm being serious, what's his name?" Clint asked.

Tony shook his head, repeating, "Clint. I named him Clint."

Clint just sat there, empty mug lax in his fingers, looking ludicrously baffled as he computed what Tony was saying.

It was Natasha's sniggering from the table behind them that seemed to bring Clint back to awareness, and he blinked once, before speaking, "That – that is just-" Clint gasped, seemingly unable to form words, his emotional state too intense to overcome, "For that, you deserve-" and then he grabbed the pet rock before Tony could react.

"Hey!" And while there was mock outrage in Tony's voice, there was also an element of  _something. A fear of rejection, of loss._ That Steve heard, and nodded to Natasha, who dug Clint in the ribs, who looked up and noticed. Clint grinned a hidden message to Natasha, all smug and good natured, and Natasha nodded to Steve, who hooked an arm around Tony's waist, arresting him mid lunge toward Clint.

Who had pulled a wicked blade from somewhere and was defacing the bottom of the rock.

When it landed back in Tony's reaching hands thirty seconds later, what greeted him on the bottom was quite elegant in its simplicity.

**_1 of a Kind._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, ladies and gentleman, is how you wrap a fic that has gotten away. I have no idea how this supposedly cute little ficlet became whatever this mutated beast was, and to be honest, toward the end I wasn't really enjoying writing it all that much. But I've never been one to leave things unfinished - and so, I've forced out an ending that somewhat resembles my original idea - I hope all those who came along for the ride found something to enjoy, and that you'll be back later in the week for more Steve/Tony goodness in my eighth instalment of 'As Easy As...'
> 
> Which features Angst. Also fluff. And lying. And anger. And all the hurt. Also, is it too much of a spoiler to tell you that Tony spends a good portion of the story trapped in what is essentially a coffin? Yes? Oh. Oh well.
> 
> Happy Reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, So this came about due to popular demand, after a tiny reference to Tony's Pet Rock in 'Nikolai'. It will consist of several short chapters, hopefully uploaded sporadically (as time allows) over the course of the next few days.
> 
> Naturally, some of you may have hoped that this was the actual Sequel to 'Nikolai', in which I promised Tony and Kittens, and I'm sorry to disappoint. Rest assured, "Being Feline" is in the works, and well on its way to upload readiness.
> 
> Happy Reading :)


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